Chapter 3 - What Emily Hid From Me
For eleven years of marriage, Emily had never lied well.
Her face always gave her away.
When we were twenty-eight and she secretly bought me tickets to a Cleveland Browns game for my birthday, she spent three weeks grinning every time football came on television.
When she got pregnant with our daughter Claire eight years ago, she made it exactly forty minutes after taking the test before blurting it out.
So when she looked at me across that police interview room and admitted she had hidden something involving my dead father, I knew immediately this was bigger than a forgotten envelope.
I closed the door behind me.
Detective Mitchell remained outside.
“What letter?”
Emily sat slowly.
Her left hand gripped the blanket.
“Three weeks ago, I was cleaning out the filing cabinet in your home office.”
“My office?”
“You remember the water leak?”
I did.
A pipe behind the upstairs bathroom had burst and damaged part of the ceiling.
We had moved boxes downstairs while contractors worked.
Emily continued.
“One of the boxes belonged to your father.”
I frowned.
“I don’t have any of Dad’s boxes.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No.”
“Daniel, it had been inside the storage room since we moved into the house.”
That made no sense.
We had bought our house five years ago.
Dad died four years ago.
“Who put it there?”
“I think Nathan did.”
My jaw tightened.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
She looked toward the door.
“Inside the box was an old ledger, two property deeds, and the envelope addressed to you.”
“The one police found?”
She nodded.
“I opened it.”
“It said only for me.”
“I know.”
Her voice cracked.
“I’m sorry.”
I should have been angry.
But the fear on her face stopped me.
“What did it say?”
Emily stared down at the table.
“It wasn’t really a letter.”
“What was it?”
“A warning.”
My pulse quickened.
“About Nathan?”
“No.”
She looked directly at me.
“About your mother.”
I almost stood.
“What?”
“Your dad wrote that if anything ever happened to him unexpectedly, you were supposed to contact Charles Whitaker personally and ask about something called the Riverstone Agreement.”
I had never heard the phrase before.
“What agreement?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I called Whitaker.”
“You called Dad’s lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Whitaker told me not to.”
That made me stop.
“He told you to keep it from me?”
“Until he verified the documents.”
“Why?”
Emily swallowed.
“Because somebody had already tried to destroy them.”
The room became completely still.
She continued.
“Whitaker said your dad became suspicious about company money disappearing before he died.”
Hayes Development.
My father’s company.
Nathan had been running day-to-day operations for nearly six years.
“What kind of money?”
“Millions.”
I stared at her.
“That’s impossible.”
“I thought so too.”
“Nathan would have told me.”
Emily’s eyes changed.
Not hard.
Sad.
“Daniel, Nathan might be the person your father was investigating.”
I turned away from her.
My older brother had been my hero when we were kids.
He taught me to throw a baseball.
He drove four hours overnight when Claire was born early.
He stood beside me at Dad’s funeral.
No.
I couldn’t make those memories fit the voice on the recording.
“What did Whitaker verify?”
Emily hesitated.
“That your father secretly transferred controlling ownership of three properties into a trust.”
“What properties?”
“The Worthington commercial center.”
My heart jumped.
“The warehouse on Dublin Road.”
I said nothing.
“And the downtown Hayes Tower property.”
That time I laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because it sounded absurd.
Hayes Tower was the most valuable asset our family had ever owned.
Twenty-three floors.
Prime downtown real estate.
The building where my own software company rented three floors.
Estimated value: more than forty million dollars.
“Nathan told me the company owned Hayes Tower.”
“Apparently not.”
“Who owns it?”
Emily’s eyes stayed on mine.
“You do.”
The words hung in the air.
“That’s impossible.”
“According to Whitaker, your father created a private trust twelve days before he died. You are the sole beneficiary.”
I backed toward the wall.
“Why?”
“He didn’t explain everything.”
“Then what did the letter say?”
Emily’s breathing became unsteady.
“That your father believed someone inside the family was siphoning money from Hayes Development and planning to use your mother’s signature to cover it.”
I thought about Mom.
Sixty-eight.
Arthritis.
Church every Sunday.
Brought cookies to our daughter’s soccer games.
Then I heard the recording again.
Do you want Daniel to lose everything?
Because if he finds Dad’s letter, we all do.
“Where is the letter now?”
“I hid it.”
“Where?”
“In the envelope behind the panel.”
“The envelope was empty.”
Emily’s eyes widened.
“No.”
“The police found the envelope. The letter is gone.”
She went pale.
“I put it there this afternoon.”
“What time?”
“Around three.”
Before my mother called me at 5:27.
Before Nathan appeared.
Before the bat.
Emily stood.
“Daniel, someone came into the house.”
“Mom and Nathan.”
“No.”
Her voice became quieter.
“I mean before them.”
She looked frightened now.
Not shaken.
Frightened.
“At four fifteen, I heard the back door.”
“Who was it?”
“I thought it was you.”
“I was still at the office.”
“I know that now.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“No. But when I walked downstairs, the basement door was open.”
Our basement door was almost always locked because Claire’s playroom was upstairs and we stored tools below.
I stared at Emily.
“Did you call police?”
“I should have.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because ten minutes later your mother arrived screaming.”
“And Nathan?”
“Three minutes after her.”
Which meant Nathan could not have been the person in the house at 4:15 unless he left and returned.
“Who else knew about the letter?”
“Whitaker.”
“Anyone else?”
Emily hesitated.
“His assistant.”
“Name?”
“Rachel Pike.”
I frowned.
The surname triggered something.
“Pike?”
“Yes.”
I knew that name.
Leonard Pike had been my father’s business partner before Dad bought him out twenty years ago.
Their relationship ended badly.
Dad refused to speak about him.
“What does Rachel look like?”
Emily opened her mouth.
Before she could answer, Detective Mitchell entered.
“Mr. Hayes, we need to go.”
“Why?”
“Your brother just left Riverside Methodist.”
My heart tightened.
“Why was Nathan at the hospital?”
“He was visiting your mother.”
“And?”
Mitchell’s jaw hardened.
“Your mother is gone.”
“What do you mean gone?”
“She checked herself out against medical advice twelve minutes ago.”
I stared at her.
“She can barely walk.”
“I know.”
“Who took her?”
Mitchell held up a hospital surveillance image.
A black SUV sat outside the emergency entrance.
The driver’s face was partially visible.
Emily looked at it.
Then whispered, “That’s her.”
“Who?”
“The woman from Whitaker’s office.”
May you like
She pointed.
“Rachel Pike.”
